


All Cried Out

by LeesaCrakon



Series: Geralt/Jaskier [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Violence, Burning, Dark Humor, Dark Magic, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic Used for torture, Major character death - Freeform, Mute Jaskier, Muteness, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Slow Burn, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21967258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeesaCrakon/pseuds/LeesaCrakon
Summary: Nilfgaard discovers that Cirilla is with Geralt. Jaskier is kidnapped by Nilfgaard and tortured for information about their whereabouts. When Geralt hears the news about the bard's fate, he sets out to rescue him, and begins questioning what Jaskier truly means to him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geralt/Jaskier [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581376
Comments: 162
Kudos: 1108





	1. Drunk Canary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fandom_mesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_mesh/gifts).



> Figures that my first addition to every new fandom I'm in is super heavy angst. Ah well, it's fun! Hope you all enjoy

All Jaskier wanted was a drink. All he ever wanted lately was a drink if he was being honest. He didn't even perform anymore unless he was desperate; he just went in, drank a few pints of ale, and then left to keep on traveling. Getting as far away from Geralt as he could. Eat, drink, sleep, run. It wasn't something he was unused to, it just felt...wrong, now, like without Geralt there to sing stories about it was all pointless. He downed his sixth mug of ale in one go, stirring a round of cheers from the men around him. He stumbled to his feet, grinning like a buffoon as he groped for his lute. He'd planned on leaving, but as the patrons of the bar gasped and began to applaud when they saw him pick up his instrument, Jaskier felt a familiar, warm glow unfurl in his chest. 

"Play something for us, lad! Play a jig!" a man in the corner yelled, and a chorus of shouts rang out in agreement. Jaskier hesitated for a moment. What was it that Geralt had compared his singing to? A pie without filling? He deflated at the memory, clinging to his lute. "Come on then, bard! What are you waiting for?" another man shouted from the corner of the pub. Jaskier sighed deeply, stealing a drink from a passing waitress and slowly draining it. He thumped the mug on the counter when he finished. 

"Don't really feel like singing if I'm being honest," he lamented, leaning dramatically against one of the support columns. "I've just had my heart broken recently, you see. A jig isn't really what I'm up for right now." A few boos echoed through the bar. 

"Well, you certainly aren't going to sing again with that kind of attitude. There's plenty of songs with a merry tune and bitter words that you could choose from. Why don't you pick one of those?" the bartender chimed in, winking at Jaskier as she readied another drink. The bard blinked, his mind reeling for a moment before he finally got an idea. He stumbled over to a table and propped one leg up on a stool. He cleared his throat, stole another mug of ale and took a swig, and then readied his lute. The bar grew silent as his fingers strummed the first cord. 

_"I've tried, tried, tried, and I've tried even more_   
_I've cried, cried, cried, and I can't recall what for_   
_I've pressed, I've pushed, I've yelled, I've begged in hopes of some success_   
_But the inevitable fact is that it never will impress_

_I've no more fucks to give, my fucks have runneth dry_   
_I've tried to go fuck shopping but there's no fucks left to buy_   
_I've no more fucks to give though more fucks I've tried to get_   
_I'm over my fuck budget and I'm now in fucking debts!"_

The tavern exploded with laughter. A few people started clapping to the beat, and the rest of the crowd joined in. Jaskier's heart swelled and, despite his blurry vision, he hopped up onto the table, kicking away a plate of food and strumming happily on his lute. It felt good to be appreciated. Fuck Geralt. He didn't know what he was talking about. He sang the next verse with gusto before approaching the end of the song, pausing for suspense. 

_"I've no more fucks to give, my fucks have flown away_

_My fucks are now so fucked off they refuse to fucking stay_   
_I've no more fucks to give, my fucks have gone insane_   
_They've come back round and passed me while they're fucking off again_

_I've no more fucks to give, my fucks have all dissolved_   
_I've planned many projects but my fucks won't be involved_   
_I've no more fucks to give, my fucks have all been spent_   
_They've fucked off from the building and I don't know where they went_

_I've no more fucks to give_   
_I've no more fucks to give_   
_I've no more fucks, I've no more fucks, I've no more fucks to give!"_

"Fuck you, Geralt!" he slurred, stumbling back and falling off the table. Another man caught him as the bar patrons roared with laughter. A few more drinks were brought round and coins filled his purse. By the time it was all done and over with, Jaskier couldn't even stand on his own. The man who caught sat beside him at the table, keeping him upright. 

"Excuse my interruption, but I'm not quite sure I heard you right, What name did you shout?" the man asked, keeping an eye on the bard as he swayed back and forth. Jaskier hiccuped, wiping his mouth as a little bit of bile burned in his throat. 

"Geralt!" he sneered, a loopy smile stretching across his face as he looked up at the other man with crossed eyes. "Geralt of Rivia can kiss my ass!" he said loudly, grabbing another ale that was passed to him and thrusting it up in the air as if he was making a toast. Just as he was about to bring the drink to his lips, the man beside him grabbed his wrist. 

"You know Geralt of Rivia?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes sparkling dangerously. Jaskier didn't notice that though, so drunk out of his mind that he could barely see straight. 

"Know him?" Jaskier scoffed. "I'm the one who made him famous! We traveled together for years! And he doesn't even have the decency to call me friend..." Jaskier's voice trailed off and he muttered a few choice words under his breath, including several unsavory places he'd like to stick his lute. The man chuckled, getting to his feet. His grip tightened on Jaskier's wrist, making the bard grunt in pain. "What are you-"

"Quite, imbecile or I'll cut out that silver tongue of yours," the man hissed. Jaskier froze, letting himself be dragged through the bar and out the door. As soon as he and his captor exited, several more men, all dressed in the armor of Nilfgaard, ran out of the shadows. Soon his wrists and ankles were shackled and he was shoved unceremoniously into the back of a prison wagon. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Jaskier shouted, stumbling to his feet and bracing himself against the grimy walls. He fell again as the horses began to run, sending him flying across the floor. He grabbed onto the ring on the floor with all his might to keep himself from being tossed about any further. The strain from holding himself combined with the enormous amounts of alcohol he consumed made Jaskier go unconscious, his head thumping harshly against the floor below him. 


	2. Hangover

When Jaskier woke up, his entire body ached. He groaned when he tried to move, his limbs screaming in protest. He stayed on the ground, closing his eyes and taking deep, shaking breaths. It hurt too much to open his eyes, even though the only source of light was a dim, grey glow filtering in from a tiny barred window. Jaskier's wrists hung heavy with thick iron shackles that matched the ones around his ankles. He sighed, sitting up and leaning against the wall, cringing at the dampness and the mold growing on the bricks. He wanted to move, but he knew he wouldn't have the energy to keep himself upright. Jaskier grimaced as his cell door opened, flooding the room with light. A man dressed in all black with a mask over his face grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him to his feet. 

"Let go of me!" Jaskier growled, yanking his wrist away and throwing a punch at the man. His fist was easily stopped, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground clutching a most likely broken wrist, gasping for air through his pain. He was pulled off the ground by his hair and dragged out of the room, his chains scraping against the stone floor below. He hissed and squeezed his eyes shut as he was pulled through a sunlit hallway, the light nearly blinding him and making his head pound. Jaskier was brought into a room similar to his cell, only bigger, and with various unpleasant tools hanging from the walls that were stained with blood. A man in a hooded cloak that covered his face stood in front of a bloodstained table with shackles on either end. Jaskier trembled as he was forced to his knees, his knuckles white as his nails dug into his palms. He ignored the throbbing it caused in his wrist.

"You've brought the prisoner?" the man asked gruffly, folding his arms across his chest. Jaskier dared to look up and his blood ran cold at the sight of two black eyes staring directly at him. He quickly ducked his head back down. "Seems timid. It should be easy enough. You're dismissed." The cloaked man shooed the guard away with a wave of his hand, and then Jaskier was left alone with him. The man stood, clasping his hands behind his back and approaching the terrified bard. 

"If you cooperate, there is nothing for you to be afraid of," the man said, patting Jaskier on the head. The bard shivered, flinching away from his touch. 

"Well, that's reassuring," Jaskier spat, his voice shaking despite the venom behind his words. The stranger chuckled, his eyes sparkling dangerously, and he pulled Jaskier to his feet by his wrists. Jaskier's head reeled and he stumbled backward, black dots dancing in his vision. He felt his throat burn as a wave of nausea hit him and he doubled over dry heaving. His captor rolled his eyes before shoving Jaskier towards the table. 

"Strip. You may keep on your underclothing. Then get onto the table." Jaskier glared at the man before seizing up against, coughing as a bit of bile bubbled up in his throat. He spat it out, grimacing at the foul taste it left in his mouth. He heard a sigh. "You're hungover, aren't you?" the man asked. He didn't respond, clutching his stomach and trembling slightly. The man grabbed him by the back of his shirt and forced Jaskier to face him before forcing a vial of liquid down his throat. Jaskier tried not to swallow it, but it was soon sliding down the back of his throat. He waited fearfully for some terrible reaction to take place; fire in his veins perhaps, or maybe his flesh would dissolve from the inside out. To his surprise, his nausea began to fade and his head cleared. His wrist even began to stop hurting, a faint popping sound coming from it and the blues and purples fading to light yellow splotches. 

"How-"

"You're not the one asking questions here. Strip and get on the table," the man barked. Jaskier flinched and quickly obeyed, taking off his pants and shirt before getting up on the table. He was pushed down by his chest and then his ankles and wrists were placed in cuffs, shackled so that he could barely move. His breathing was shaky and he closed his eyes, trying to calm down. if he complied he'd be alright. This would be fine. Surely, what they wanted wouldn't be of too much importance. To Jaskier, anyway. "So...you're friends with Geralt of Rivia, correct?" the man asked, turning his back to Jaskier and studying the tools on the walls. Jaskier strained his neck to see what he was doing. 

"I- Well, sort of, we're more acquaintances than friends, I'd say," he said quickly. When the man turned back to look at him, Jaskier whipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Cool drops of water dripped down from the stone below and fell on Jaskier's body, making him shiver. 

"Regardless, you traveled with him, yes? You're the one who wrote all those songs about him?" the man asked impatiently. Jaskier paled as he heard a loud grating sound and he flinched when the interrogator set something beside him with a loud thud. 

"Y-Yes, yes I did," Jaskier stammered. He glanced at the thing beside him and all the color drained from his face. He had no idea what the thing was, but there were a lot of spikes and sharp blades sticking out of it. He closed his eyes. 

"What do you know about the girl traveling with him?" Jaskier's mouth twitched. 

"Which one?" he commented smartly. His smart mouth was rewarded with a punch to the stomach. He groaned as all the air rushed from his lungs, twisting slightly in his cuffs. "That was a serious question! He's been with a lot of women, alright?" he huffed. Even Jaskier was surprised at the humor he managed to conjure in a situation like this. 

"Well, this isn't a woman. She's young, about twelve years old. Nilfgaard has taken an...interest...in her." Jaskier stiffened. Geralt was traveling with a child? The bard faintly recalled Geralt mentioning a child of surprise, a princess that Geralt was promised when he saved her parents. Now, Jaskier may have had his qualms with Geralt, but he would not do anything to harm a child. He kept his mouth shut, biting his lip and clenching his fists in defiance. This was going to hurt like a bitch. The man stared down at a moment and sighed, shaking his head as he lifted the tool off of the table and set it down. 

"What a shame. I hoped this thing would intimidate you into talking, but it appears not. We'll start off light; don't want to kill you before I've had the chance to get anything out of you," the interrogator joked, a smirk on his face as he pulled something from his belt. Jaskier closed his eyes.

* * *

Geralt and Cirilla were headed North. The young princess was asleep, riding on Roach's back as Geralt guided the horse down the rough dirt path. They'd been traveling all night, Geralt taking the princess with him the minute that they were reunited in the woods. He couldn't stop looking at her. He had a child, a daughter if you would. How would this correlate with his lifestyle? How could he protect her from the entire nation of Nilfgaard single-handedly? As Geralt's mind reeled, he couldn't help but wish that Jaskier was there. The bard had always liked children, or so he told Geralt. He'd mentioned having a nephew he'd taken care of until the boy was old enough to fend for himself while his parents weren't at home. He probably had a better idea of what to do than Geralt ever could. 

"Geralt?" Cirilla sat up on the horse, her eyes still drooping heavily with sleep. Geralt quickly stopped Roach, coming to his horse's side and looking up at the princess. 

"Yes? Are you alright?" he asked, trying to keep his voice monotone as usual but unable to keep away the anxious edge. Ciri smiled a bit. 

"I'm fine...just hungry. Is there any chance that we could get something to eat?" Damn it. Geralt hadn't even thought about food. Well, he had, but only for himself. What did Cirilla even like? Did she have any allergies? Geralt was going to get the princess killed on their first day together. Jaskier probably would have bet on those odds too. His heart sank but he tried to ignore it. 

"I think there's a pub up ahead. Do you think you can manage a little longer, princess?" Geralt asked. Cirilla smiled again. 

"You can call me Ciri, please, no need for formalities. And yes, I'll be alright." Geralt grunted and nodded, getting back on the road again. Perhaps Jaskier would be at the pub performing. He did like his ale and the company that came with it. Maybe this would be Geralt's chance to apologize to the bard. As they rounded the next corner, the pub Geralt had been speaking of came into view. It was small and neat, with a post to tie horses to standing outside and a cobblestone path leading up to the door. It seemed to be more of an inn than a tavern, but inns had food. Geralt tied Roach to the post and helped Cirilla down, holding her hand as they walked in through the door. Geralt approached the counter and placed a pouch of gold coins down in front of the bartender. 

"All of the food and drink this will buy," he said. He glanced back at Ciri and cleared his throat. "Ah...I have a kid with me, so, um...only one mug of ale, the rest water. Thanks." The bartender nodded and busied himself making the food and drink. Geralt carried the mug of ale and four cases of water back to the table. "The food will be out soon. Drink this," he said, handing one of the glasses of water to the princess. Cirilla took it gratefully, gulping down the water. The bartender came with their food momentarily, and Cirilla looked hungrily at the plates of hot food. She looked at Geralt for permission, and when the witcher nodded, she pulled one of the plates towards her and began to eat. Two boys at a nearby table stopped their conversation, eyes widening as they saw the witcher and Cirilla sitting together. Geralt sighed and took a swig of ale as the two teenagers approached, whispering to each other. 

"Are...are you Geralt of Rivia?" one of the boys asked, taking his hat off and fidgeting with it. Geralt sighed and nodded. Cirilla watched on with interest. The two young men immediately perked up. "You know Jaskier then, right? The bard?" He nodded curtly. "He's been taken. We thought you ought to know." Geralt choked on the ale that he had begun to drink, coughing and spluttering, wiping the liquid dribbling down his face with the back of his hand. 

"Taken? What do you mean?" Geralt asked. The one boy, the one with his hat off, shrugged and looked at the other boy. 

"We mean he was kidnapped, sir. Jaskier was staying with my mother- his sister, see- and he came here last night to perform. I saw him leave the bar with a few men and they forced him into a wagon. They looked like Nilfgaard soldiers," the young man explained. Geralt inhaled sharply. 

"Then he's in danger," he muttered. The boy nodded and swallowed thickly. 

"Please, sir, I...I know you got into a fight the last time you saw one another, but he's my uncle...can you save him?" The boy looked at Geralt with pleading eyes. Geralt clenched his jaw. Of course Jaskier had told his family about their fight...why shouldn't he, though? He had a right to talk about things that upset him. Geralt took a deep breath. 

"I'll set out in the morning. Tell your mother that her brother will be brought back safely," Geralt promised. The boy gasped and flung his arms around Geralt's neck, hugging him tightly. The witcher, caught off guard, gave a grunt and pat the boy on the back awkwardly. The young man pulled away, rushing out the door, his friend quickly following. Geralt turned back to his drink, but his stomach was churning. What would Nilfgaard want with a bard? 

"Are you alright?" Ciri asked timidly, looking up from her food and tilting her head. Geralt mustered up a smile, not wanting her to be frightened. 

"Yes, I'm fine. Go back to your dinner. We'll be staying in a room here tonight." Cirilla complied, leaving Geralt to stew away in his mangled thoughts. 


	3. Follow the Leader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's nephew will be a recurring/major character throughout this story, I was just worried about tagging this fic as having an OC bc people tend not to read works with OCs in major roles. You guys seem to like him though, which makes me really happy! Hope you guys like this chapter!

Geralt hadn't been able to sleep that night and as a result, he felt exhausted. He sighed, sitting up in bed and rubbing his face. He glanced at Cirilla in the bed next to his. His mouth twitched as he saw her lying there fast asleep. She looked so small, swallowed up in blankets with her white-blond hair splayed out around her face. Geralt wanted to let her keep on sleeping, but the sun was high in the sky, and it would only stay there for so long. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she flinched, whipping around to face Geralt with big eyes. 

"It's just me, Ciri. We need to get going. The longer we stay, the greater danger Jaskier will be in," Geralt said. The princess quickly sat up, slipping on her shoes. Geralt hesitated. "I'm going to be leaving you with a friend. it isn't safe for you to come with me." Cirilla frowned, looking up at Geralt before shaking her head. 

"I'm coming with you. You really think that I can't handle myself?" Cirilla asked, raising an eyebrow at the witcher. Geralt couldn't help but chuckle. 

"No, princess, it's not that at all. I know perfectly well, with your grandmother being who she was and the fact you were able to evade Nilfgaardians all on your own for a while that you could take care of yourself. It's simply that, though, that makes me think you should stay. Give you a chance to really act like a child for a while. Jaskier's nephew, he'll make good company for you. He's about your age, isn't he?" Geralt said. Ciri crossed her arms over her chest. 

"He's thirteen. And his name is Jakub," she said after a moment of silence. Geralt raised an eyebrow at her and she grudgingly continued. "We talked after dinner. He was outside playing with some village boys and I asked to join. He talks a lot." Geralt cast his eyes downward. 

"Just like his uncle," he said quietly, before quickly shaking his head and getting to his feet. "Anyway. That's who I'm leaving you with. I think you'll enjoy yourself," Geralt continued with a forced smile. Cirilla simply hummed as she gathered the small number of things that Geralt had brought into the room. He shouldered the bag after she handed it to him, taking her small hand in his large one and leading her down the stairs. He paid the innkeeper what he owed and then some to keep him quiet about their presence there, then quickly exited the inn. He went to Roach, untying him from the post. 

"Did Jakub tell you where he lives?" Geralt asked his daughter. Ciri hesitated before nodding. "Show me. I should probably speak to his mother before I leave you with them." 

"Oh, you think so?" Cirilla asked, rolling her eyes slightly at the man. Geralt looked down at her, taken aback by her attitude, but definitely not hating it. If Jaskier couldn't be there to give Geralt his sass, he was glad that the princess could compensate. For a little while, anyway. He helped Ciri up onto the horse and led Roach down the street, taking directions from Ciri until they reached a small, humble cottage. Jakub was playing outside with a small black dog, laughing as the dog chased him around and barked. Geralt softened a bit at the sight, bringing Roach to the fence and tying her to it. Ciri got down eagerly, her feet hitting the ground harshly before she ran off to join Jakub in his playing. Geralt pat Roach's side before walking up to the cottage door, giving it a firm knock. A short, wispy-haired woman opened it, craning her head to look up at the witcher. 

"Um...hello?" she said, stepping aside for Geralt to come in. Geralt stepped into the cottage and ducked his head to keep from hitting it in the doorway. "What brings you here? Are you the father of my son's new friend?" she asked, gesturing to Ciri and Jakub playing outside together. Geralt grunted and nodded. 

"Yes, Cirilla is my daughter. I'm also...friends...with your brother, Jaskier," Geralt said. The woman's eyes widened and she gasped, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. Geralt made a noise of surprise as she yanked him down to her height with more strength than he expected from a woman of her stature. She didn't even come up to his chest. 

"Do you know where he is? He's been missing for days, I haven't seen him anywhere! He went to the bar and then he didn't come home ane- Oh, I've been so terribly worried, surely there's something you can do?" she exclaimed, her voice coming out rushed, but Geralt could understand her well enough. He rested a hand on her shoulder, trying to be as reassuring as possible. 

"Jaskier is in danger, but I'll do everything in my power to get him home safely. I leave today to find him. I was wondering if I could leave Ciri here while I search for him. It's too dangerous for her to come with me, and I see she likes your son. Besides, anyone related to Jaskier must have a decent heart. He certainly does," Geralt said, peppering in a compliment with the request and the promise. Jaskier's sister blushed and nodded quickly. 

"Of course, of course. Now, what was your name? I realize we were never properly introduced. I'm Zofia."

"Geralt of Rivia. Jaskier's probably talked about me," he replied, nodding. Zofia's mouth fell open, but Geralt had already stepped outside before she could barrel him with questions. He gazed one last time at Cirilla before going back to Roach, untying his horse and getting up onto its back. The two of them took off down the road, the two children pausing in their play to watch him go. Cirilla pet Jakub's small dog, Filip, as she held him in her arms, her heart pounding rapidly. 

"Where's he going?" Jakub asked, plopping down in the grass beside her. Cirilla sniffled softly and buried her nose in Filip's soft fur. 

"He's going to get your uncle, Jaskier. I hope he doesn't get hurt..." Her voice trailed off and she sniffled again, her eyes glistening as she began to tear up. Jakub looked at her with alarm as he realized she was crying and quickly put an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm a bit as he tried to comfort her. 

"Hey, hey, it'll be alright. Geralt is strong. My uncle is too, even though people don't really know it..." Jakub said weakly. Honestly, he wasn't very hopeful of the situation either. Everyone knew that Nilfgaard took no prisoners, and the few times they did...if they made it out alive, they were never the same again. Jakub sat up with determination, an arm still wound around Ciri as he thrust a finger up into their air. "I know! We'll follow Geralt. Then we'll know what's happening, and we can help him if we need to!" Jakub grinned at Ciri. 

"Are...Are you sure we should? Won't your mother worry?" Ciri asked. Jakub's smile fell for a moment, but then it snapped right back into place. 

"Not really, actually. I go over to my friend Alek's house all the time without telling. Let's go!" Jakub stood and held his hand out to Ciri. She stared at it for a moment. She knew this journey would be dangerous. Geralt had left her with Jaskier's family for a reason. However, the thought of Geralt dying when they'd only just been reunited stirred up something within her, and she took Jakub's hand with unshakable determination. She knew her...abilities would keep her and Jakub safe, and hopefully Geralt as well. 

"Let's go," she said. 

* * *

"I'm sure you're familiar with flaying," Jaskier's tormentor said smoothly, picking up a clean knife and running a thumb on the edge of the blade. Jaskier was breathing shakily, black dots already dancing in his vision as he tried not to pass out. His body was clammy with sweat and he was pale, having already lost blood due to the man's earlier ministrations. He couldn't even remember anything he'd been asked, or what had been done to him. There had just been so much pain, for hours. He flinched as the man delicately dragged the knife across his bicep, drawing a faint line of blood. His arms and groin were the only areas of his body left untouched. The rest had pieces of carved out flesh, cuts, burns, and whip marks. The lashes from the whip were mostly on Jaskier's thighs. The sadistic bastard hadn't even asked Jaskier any questions when he did that. "There's a way you can flay someone alive without killing them. Isn't that fascinating?" Jaskier whimpered, closing his eyes as his hands began to shake. The man tsked, digging the tip of the knife into the sensitive flesh of Jaskier's forearm, making him cry out in pain. 

"Please. I already told you, I don't know where Geralt is going," Jaskier pleaded, his voice hoarse from screaming. He grit his teeth as the man above him began cutting a line down his bicep. He yelled and grit his teeth, his back arching off the table at the terrible sensation of his skin slowly, methodically being cut off. He sobbed in both relief and pain when the first strip was removed and it was done. He nearly vomited when he saw the man place the strip of skin in a box as if he were going to save it for later. 

"Yes, yes...perhaps we should move on to another question then," the man hummed. Jaskier closed his eyes, waiting for the blade again when the dungeon's door opened with a loud clang. His breathing hitched and he looked over to see another man looming in the doorway. 

"That's enough, Antoni. Don't want to kill him on the first day," he said gruffly. Jaskier's tormentor, Antoni, pouted before putting the knife away. 

"Just when I was starting to have a bit of fun as well. Ah, well, I'll see you again tomorrow, Jaskier," Antoni said, squeezing Jaskier's thigh and making the bard groan in pain. "Mmm, that sounded lovely. I'll have to get that sound out of you again." Jaskier kept his eyes closed, trembling slightly as fear and pain raked through his body. The door closed once more, but the bard could feel that he was not alone. Footsteps approached his side and he prepared for a continuation of the torture, but to his surprise, the cuffs around his ankles and wrists came undone. He went to sit up, but the new man stopped him by putting a hand on Jaskier's chest. The hand stayed there, and Jaskier shivered as a chill ran through his entire body. His wounds began to slowly heal, leaving behind nothing but slightly puckered scars and a few scabs where the larger of his wounds had been. 

"Thank...Thank you?" Jaskier muttered, glancing at the man, now obviously a mage, with a wary gaze. The mage chuckled deeply, his blue eyes boring into Jaskier's very soul.

"Don't thank me yet, bard. We're not done with you yet, but you can't tell us anything if you're dead," he said, grabbing Jaskier by the hair and dragging him out of the dungeon. Jaskier only had the energy to whimper, stumbling after the mage and trying to keep up so he didn't have to be dragged. His wounds had been healed, but his body still ached from the strain he had gone through from the torture. "You're a singer, yes?" Jaskier hesitated before nodding. The mage smiled. "Pray your breath control helps you out now." They came into another room, this one better lit and completely bare. Jaskier was forced to his knees and his hands were firmly bound behind his back by magic. A wooden trough appeared in front of him filled to the brim with crystal clear water. Jaskier swallowed. He could guess pretty easily what was about to happen. 

"About how long can you hold your breath, bard?" the mage said, circling Jaskier with a predatory gaze. "Where is Geralt taking the princess?" Jaskier kept his mouth shut, his jaw clenched. The mage looked at him for a moment before letting out a bored hum, flicking a hand. Jaskier gasped in surprise as his body lurched forward, a bad decision he soon found, as his head was dunked into the water and he inhaled it through his nose and mouth. He tried to hold his breath but his instincts made him cough and splutter even under the water's surface, only succeeding in clogging his lungs with more water. His head was finally freed from magic and he thrust it out of the water, taking several deep, shuddering breaths, only to have his head shoved back into the water in the middle of one. Jaskier's lungs burned as he tried to breathe, only to have more water fill his lungs. He started panicking, thrashing around and screaming each time his head was lifted out of the water and shoved back in again.

"I'll ask again. Where is Geralt taking the princess?" Jaskier refused to answer, gasping for breath but glaring at the mage with ferocity. The mage shrugged, flicked his hand, and it began once more. Jaskier didn't know how long it went on for. When he was finally allowed to breath, he doubled over and gagged, projectile-vomiting bile and water onto the ground. His body convulsed as he wretched a few more times and he eventually collapsed, dry heaving and gasping for air as his body jerked violently. He could hear the mage laughing as he laid in a pile of his own sick, humiliated and exhausted. He couldn't get enough air and soon fell unconscious, lying on the floor in a broken heap, his body continuing to shake and jerk. The mage, simply for the fun of it, placed a cloth over his head and slowly poured water over it, depriving Jaskier completely of oxygen even when he was passed out. He finally let the bard breath after he threw up again, tossing the soiled cloth aside and turning the man onto his side so he didn't choke on his own vomit. He left him there, shaking, sweating, and bound, locking the door to the dungeon behind him. 


	4. Little Songbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the show, the timelines in the story don't necessarily line up. Jaskier's timeline is ahead of Geralt, Ciri, and Jakub's. For them, it's only been a few days. Jaskier has been captured for a little over a week at this point.
> 
> Also...Recently, people have been asking me for longer chapters. I'm trying, guys, really, but it's difficult for me to get out chapters at this length sometimes. Most of the time, I don't have time to write until 10 or 11 at night and I'm exhausted at that point, so I get out my best quality writing before I'm too tired to write. Sometimes that'll mean shorter chapters. I hope you all understand. 
> 
> I was in the ER from severe dehydration so I couldn't get this chapter out sooner. I'm sorry! Love you guys and thank you for the continued support on my story

When someone came to fetch him, Jaskier was staring blankly ahead, sitting up against the wall as his body trembled from shock, cold, and exhaustion. They'd given him water periodically while he was locked in the waterboarding room, but it had been four days since he'd had any food. Antoni looked his frail body up and down before grabbing him by his wrists. Jaskier could only let out a muffled whine of protest, the motion making his head spin. Antoni slapped him hard across the face and he fell silent, walking stiffly after the larger man. 

"Well, I have some good news for you, bard," Antoni grunted. Jaskier's head whipped up. Were they going to let him go? Was all this finally over? Would he get to go home? Antoni smirked, raising a bushy, blond eyebrow at the bard. "Turns out you've been telling the truth all along! Our man just informed us that you and Geralt haven't been seen together for...what was it now? Months? A good year? We killed him of course, he was the one who led us to you in the first place. So no more interrogations for you." Jaskier closed his eyes and a few tears slipped from beneath his lids, his shoulders sagging in relief. 

"Are you letting me go?" Jaskier asked hesitantly. Antoni roared with laughter as if the bard's question was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, and Jaskier's heart sank, the small shred of hope he'd had just moments before completely shattering. 

"Let you go? Pah! What a stupid question. Of course, we aren't going to let you go." Antoni stopped walking, his eyes glinting dangerously as he pulled Jaskier close to him until their bodies were flush. He bent down, whispering to the bard, "You're going to stay and be our pretty little songbird. Doesn't that sound wonderful, bard?" Jaskier shook his head desperately. Antoni cupped his cheek and he tried to pull away, making Antoni grab him by his hair and yank his head down so he was looking up. He gasped and his eyes watered with pain and Antoni snickered. Jaskier shuddered as Antoni licked away the tears with his tongue and he tried to jerk away again, but Antoni had already pulled away from him, taking him once again by the wrists and continuing half-drag half-lead Jaskier through the winding halls. 

"There you are! I was starting to think we'd killed the poor thing!" Jaskier looked up to see the mage was speaking. He quickly looked back down when their eyes met, a lump forming in his throat. The mage stroked the side of his face and Jaskier grimaced, pulling away from his touch. "Still got a little spirit left, I see. We'll need to beat that out before we send it to the king. Let's bring him to the others," the mage said. Antoni grunted, pulling at Jaskier's wrists again to get him to follow. The bard stumbled before regaining his footing, doing his best to keep up with Antoni and the mage. The end of the hallway opened into an expansive room, with high ceilings and cold, stone walls that made the room seem like a dungeon. There were three other men that Jaskier could see, but before he could get a good look at his surroundings Antoni pushed him to his knees in the center of the room, grabbing him by the hair and forcing his head down. Jaskier clenched his jaw, staying silent only for the sake of his head. One of the new men walked up to him and kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying back against the pavement. He groaned, getting on his hands and knees and coughing, clutching his side as he winced. 

"What the hell was that for?" Jaskier hissed through his teeth. His defiance was rewarded by another kick, this time to his side. He wheezed, doubling over and pressing his forehead against the cold stone below as if that would provide some relief. "Ok. Big buff guys, you can beat the shit out of me...what do you want?" he muttered, looking up at the men with bitter eyes. A gloved hand ran down his spine, stopping just above Jaskier's breeches and making him shiver. 

"Well, we thought that was obvious. We want you, bard," Antoni said with a sadistic grin on his face. "And I get to take the first bite." Jaskier's face drained of color and he felt sick, but he looked Antoni straight in the eye before spitting in his face. Antoni cried out in surprise, reeling backward as Jaskier smirked proudly back at him. The Nilfgaardian wiped the saliva from his face, looking at the bard with a dangerous expression. Jaskier's confidence vanished and he tried to scramble backward, but the man lashed out and grabbed Jaskier by the wrists, dragging him to his feet once more. Antoni pulled him from the room to a chorus of laughter and wolf whistles that made Jaskier want to curl into a ball and die. He was forced into another room, this one lightly furnished with a bed in the corner and a fireplace. The door closed with a finalizing clang, and as Antoni approached him with animalistic hunger in his eyes Jaskier closed his own, allowing a tear or two to slip as Antoni pushed him back onto the bed. As the bed dipped beside him, Jaskier's last thought before Antoni began was a silent prayer to any gods that existed out there that Geralt would never discover his shame. 

* * *

"I know you're following me," Geralt grunted, stopping Roach and turning his head to look at the path behind him. He caught the swish of a cloak out of the corner of his eye and he had to smile. For children, these two were clever. "Come on out. You two must be tired," Geralt said again. There was a faint rustling. Ciri popped out first, her clothes and face dirty, and twigs and leaves poking up out of her hair. Jakub emerged covered in mud. Attempts at camouflage. Once again, Geralt was impressed. But that did not mean he approved. He swung down from Roach and stood in the road with his arms crossed over his chest. Ciri hung her head and walked over to him, but Jakub started right back at him, crossing his arms over his chest too and mimicking Geralt's stance. He looked ridiculous doing it, being all skin and bones and barely taller than Geralt's waist. 

"You're not making me go home!" Jakub shouted, getting into a fighting stance when he saw the witcher begin to slowly approach him. Geralt raised his eyebrows at the young boy, a slight smile on his face. 

"You think you could take me in a fight?" Geralt asked, slightly amused. Jakub seemed the opposite. His nose was scrunched, his face was red, and his eyes held more fiery rage than even some of the monster Geralt had faced in his life. Were all musicians this scary when they got angry? Geralt backed up a little bit, putting his hands up. "You aren't going home. You can't, really, at this point. You've been following me for two days. At this point, it would be stupid to send you home alone and I sure as hell don't plan on turning around," he said. Jakub looked a bit guilty at that, quickly putting down his hands and hiding them behind his back. 

"Did we slow you down?" Ciri asked. Jakub's head whipped back up and he looked between Geralt and Ciri with worry. Geralt sighed. 

"No, you didn't slow me down. To your credit, I didn't even know you were following me until this morning. You're both very good at hiding," the witcher admitted. Ciri smiled, looking proud of herself, and Jakub kicked shyly at the ground. Geralt let out a soft 'hm' and turned back to the road, taking Roach's reins and leading her down the dirt path. Jakub and Ciri hurried to catch up with the witcher, only one of his long strides equaling about five of theirs. "We'll be stopping for the night soon. You two must be tired," Geralt commented nonchalantly. Jakub frowned deeply. 

"Why can't we keep going? We need to get to my uncle!" Jakub demanded, grabbing onto Geralt's shirt to get his attention. Geralt looked down at the boy, about to tell him off, but when he saw those bright eyes looking up at him, shining with tears, he couldn't bring himself to be angry. He put a hand on Jakub's shoulder, squeezing it a bit as the boy sniffled softly. 

"I know that you're worried about Jaskier. I am too, but we'd be no help to him if we're too exhausted to rescue him once we get there, now would we?" Geralt reasoned. Jakub considered the witcher's words before slowly shaking his head, using the back of his sleeve to wipe the tears away from his face. Geralt grunted. "Good. C'mere." Jakub looked up at Geralt in confusion, then yelped as Geralt picked him up by the waist, setting him on Roach's back. The witcher gestured to Cirilla and she came up to him, and he did the same to her. "I'll try to get us a cart after our next stop so we can travel more quickly, but for now you two will ride on Roach. We'll be arriving soon." Geralt handed Jakub the reins, and Ciri wrapped her arms around Jakub's waist. The boy flushed indignantly at the gesture but made no protest as Geralt urged Roach onward. 

Geralt was right. The journey didn't take more than half an hour, but both Ciri and Jakub had fallen asleep on Roach's back. Geralt smiled softly at the two children, keeping an eye on them to make sure that they didn't fall off until he came upon a small clearing. Doing his best not to disturb them, he took the supplies of Roach's back and began setting up a makeshift camp. he brought only one bedroll, but with it being big enough for him, he was sure both Jakub and Ciri would fit on it comfortably. With a bit of regret, he shook the two of them awake, helping them down off the horse and onto the bedroll. They both fell back asleep immediately, curled up under the blanket together and snoring. Once Geralt got a fire going he settled on the ground next to them, keeping his sword nearby in case there came a need for him to use it. God only knew what kind of monsters lurked about at night. And now, instead of just himself to protect, he had two children to take care of as well. However, just like when he realized the two were following him, Geralt couldn't find it in himself to be angry. They filled a hole that Geralt hadn't even realized had been there; a hole, he learned, that Jaskier himself had once filled. 

"Fuck," Geralt muttered to himself, his eyes shooting open as his mind stumbled across that gem of a thought. He cared about these kids. He cared about Jaskier. Hell, it was probably him caring about Jaskier that got the bard in trouble with Nilfgaard in the first place. Geralt shifted restlessly, trying to relax, but his mind was, once again, reeling. His fist clenched around the hilt of his sword. He was going to kill those bastards when he found them. If anyone deserved a fate like this, it certainly wasn't Jaskier. He muttered to himself as he turned again, kept awake by several self-indulgent fantasies about ways to painfully murder a man. 


End file.
